


this is where we belong

by archons



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, First Meetings, Fluff, Intimacy, M/M, Movie Night, Non-Sexual Intimacy, One Shot Collection, Romance, Sexual Tension, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-10-21 06:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10679160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archons/pseuds/archons
Summary: Oberon Ryder sees his relationship with Jaal Ama Darav as a sequence of beautiful moments - some longer than others, some sweeter than the rest.





	1. dawn

**Author's Note:**

> These oneshots were prompted by a few lovely folks over on Tumblr. I'm nowhere near done with them, so expect more! Many, many more, hopefully! I've been really enjoying writing these two, so that will definitely continue.
> 
> Also, I'm hoping to start a longfic centered around Oberon's journey as Pathfinder once we get word from Bioware about Jaal's romance. So look for that in the future! ❤

**Prompt:** "[Dawn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YA3Cx4XsLCI)" by Poets of the Fall.  
_I will be standing by your side. / Together we'll face the turning tide_.

* * *

Thinking of Meridian as a gift was... difficult.  
  
Oberon looped his arms behind his thighs and pulled them flush against his chest. The muscles in his legs ached, even after a few long days of rest on the Hyperion, but stretching felt good. Freeing himself of the self-imposed exile to his father's room felt  _good._  
  
Not his father's room. The Pathfinder's quarters were his. Why was that still so difficult to work his head around?  
  
His face scrunched as the limbs of the tree he sat beneath shifted, letting shafts of pure light through its broad leaves. The artificial sunlight couldn't have felt less artificial. Where light touched, his skin warmed to a pale pink. Where light touched, life grew in a plentiful, vibrant green.  
  
Meridian was beautiful, but he saw it in a different light.  
  
To most people, their new home was either a promise fulfilled, a miracle, or something akin to destiny. To him, Meridian was taken, wrestled from the hands of the Archon and the Kett, and it was something they would no doubt have to fight to keep.

Even through the ambient sound of wildlife and the repairs being made to the Hyperion, Oberon heard footfalls on the grass behind him.

 _Jaal Ama Darav is approaching, Pathfinder_ , SAM chimed between his ears.

His visitor settled down onto the grass beside him before Oberon could look away from the brook a few yards off. Meridian's sun glinted off of the damp rocks, not unlike the way Jaal's eyes sparkled under any sort of lighting.

Nestling his chin between his knees, Oberon smiled to himself. Despite his introversion, he couldn't help himself with Jaal was around.

“I want to see the rest of Meridian,” he said, suddenly.

There was an implied: _With you_.

Jaal rested a heavy hand at the small of Oberon's back and leaned into him, blotting out a chunk of Meridian's sun. Whatever chill Oberon had managed to find in the shade was gone as the two of them grew closer. “I've spoken with Director Tann at length, both about the Moshae and... our plans for the rest of Meridian.”

“What has he said?”

“We've been given leave to explore the planet at our leisure, as long as we are willing to return to the Hyperion if it's requested of us.” Jaal shifted on the ground, tucking his body close enough to Oberon's for their hips to rest side-by-side. There was a steady strength in the way he curled a thick arm around his waist; the feeling of comfort that followed the contact was instantaneous. “Will we be going alone?”

Oberon considered the question as he sank into Jaal's embrace, cheeks hot from the sun and from the man at his side.

“SAM will be with us.”


	2. happy

**Prompt:** Gift giving.

* * *

 Jaal slept often, if not heavily or for very long.  
  
He was the sort of man who could fall asleep sitting up if the situation required, or who fell asleep in the middle of a conversation that had gone on for too long if he was comfortable enough. Oberon loved watching him settle in on the spacious couch in his Pathfinder's quarters almost as much as he loved listening to him snore during his hour-long naps. The sound of Jaal's breathing made for good background noise as he worked – not too quiet, but not intrusive, either.  
  
Sometimes, Jaal snorted awake before settling back down to finish resting. _That_ frightened Oberon once or twice, nearly startling him out of his skin and leaving him pumped full of adrenaline.   
  
But as they spent time in each others' company, he grew more and more accustomed to the way Jaal slept.  
  
He could tell when Jaal was going to start snoring. His breathing evened out for a couple of minutes before his inhalations became more nasal. Soon after, the snoring started, and after that, every ten or fifteen minutes, he woke himself up with a loud snort or cough before going right back to sleep.  
  
Oberon was almost jealous.  
  
Another thing that Oberon learned over the course of a week or two was that Jaal spoke to himself before he woke up. There were words sometimes. Other times, he hummed quietly before sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.  
  
One day, as Jaal began to mumble to himself, Oberon hurried across the room from his desk and climbed up onto the couch. His footsteps were silent due to his tall socks, and he was quieter still when he straddled Jaal's thick waist, careful not to jostle him too much. Only when Jaal opened his eyes did Oberon touch over his face, over the scar embedded into his cheek and the curve of his chin.  
  
“O... beron?” Jaal asked, the usual warmth in his voice replaced with a rasp. He lifted a hand from where it dangled off the side of the couch to touch over the bare skin of Oberon's thigh. “What are you planning on doing with me?”  
  
Excitement hit Oberon in a rush of butterflies.  
  
“I have something for you.”  
  
The ridge of Jaal's brow dipped into an almost-furrow. “Something?”  
  
Oberon pressed his lips to the bridge of his nose. The kiss was broken by a smile. “Something,” he echoed. It took everything he had to school his face to give him another and another and another, but he managed, if only barely. “Something very important.”  
  
With every kiss, Jaal's hands slid farther up Oberon's thighs, over his broad hips and the softness of his waist.  
  
“Would it be wrong of me to assume you are giving me these gifts right now?”  
  
“You're... cute.” Oberon kissed over the protrusion of Jaal's upper lip. He laughed when Jaal snatched his mouth up in a kiss. Pulling away was difficult, and the cheeky angara only served to make it almost impossible. “You sleep _so **much**_. And...”  
  
He left another kiss on the curve of Jaal's chin, then a few over the bands of flesh that flanked his throat. Those last few lingered as he settled against him, sitting carefully on his thighs. As the kisses softened, so did his voice. “I want you to be this happy every time you wake up.”


	3. petrichor

**Prompt:** petrichor -  _the pleasant, earthy smell after rain_.

* * *

 On Havarl mornings, stepping outside of the climate-controlled buildings and into the fresh air always felt like swimming. The air was hot and nearly dense enough to drink, leaving everyone unaccustomed to the planet feeling sticky.  
  
Gross.  
  
Uncomfortable. _So_ uncomfortable.  
  
And in many ways, that was the worst part about Jaal’s home planet, the only pitfall, the only thing that could keep Oberon from having the Tempest touch down near the research station that was only a short shuttle ride from Jaal’s family home. Not that the memory of his last trip into the humid, quasi-tropical forest of Havarl ever actually stopped him.  
  
What kept him returning – aside from his love for Jaal’s... giant family – was Havarl at nighttime.  
  
Nothing about the weather was temperate by any means. It was still hot, still humid, but the pros outweighed the cons by a mile.  
  
Oberon rested back against the damp metal shell of Jaal's family's home and took as deep a breath as he could manage. The air was too thick to take in much, but what he could swallow was enough.  
  
Flowering plants grew in every direction, lending honeyed notes to what little he inhaled. The scent was sweet, but not cloying. Intense, but not overwhelming. Cutting through the haze was a strong, almost savory sap that leaked from the hulking shadows that made up the treeline.  
  
On another day, the forest might have been too much to bear, but a recent rain blotted out the strongest of the scents, replacing them with its own fresh smell.  
  
The colors were just as beautiful.  
  
Nearby, Jaal crouched beside the railing that bordered the building, meant to keep most of the wildlife out of the space his family carved out of the forest for themselves. He reached through the thick metal bars to touch over a broad, two-tipped leaf. The serrated edges glittered like much of the flora on Havarl.  
  
“It looks... like ivy,” Oberon said, his voice quiet. “But ivy leaves have three tips. Other types have five. And isn't bioluminescent.”  
  
Jaal made a quiet noise in his throat before letting the leaf go and standing.  
  
“What color is this 'ivy'?”  
  
“Green.” Oberon straightened himself out and moved over to stand at Jaal's back. Rather than folding his arms, they looped around Jaal's ribs as he pressed his face into the broad span of his back. “It's a dark shade, a little desaturated compared to some plants native to Earth. There are veins through the top of them, too. Typically paler than the rest of the leaf.”  
  
Jaal rested his hands over Oberon's wrists rather than holding onto the railing.  
  
“Do you have... mm, any pictures of this plant?”  
  
When Oberon shook his head, Jaal thumbed over the activation key on Oberon's omni-tool. The bright glow of its interface broke through the darkness, leaving everything illuminated with a cast of orange light.  
  
It only took Jaal a moment to find the scanner equipped to the omni-tool and only another moment for him to scan the plant curling around the railing and spilling over onto the ground before them. SAM's analysis of the flora of Havarl was familiar to him, but the AI's study of the plant was of no interest to him in that moment. All he wanted was to capture what he could.  
  
“I have pictures of other things,” Oberon murmured as Jaal manipulated the omni-tool on his wrist, moving his arm easily up and down and side to side. “But sometimes, when I realize that I forgot something...”  
  
Jaal lifted a leaf with his free hand and took a picture, storing it along with the other photos Oberon had taken of Heleus wildlife. There was so much there, and he'd seen every one. When taken from a different perspective, even familiar things were somewhat strange.  
  
“The thought of being so far away from things I've known all of my life...” Jaal took a breath to steady himself. “It breaks my heart.”  
  
Oberon took in a deep breath.  
  
All he could smell was Jaal.  
  
“Well, I found something nice here. There's something to be said for that.”


	4. stargazing

**Prompt:** stargazing.

* * *

Exploring Aya's Remnant Vault took longer than anyone anticipated.

Following the discovery of Meridian and Moshae Sjefa's new position as ambassador for the Nexus, Oberon and his crew returned to the Vaults to comb through them for more information. There were crumbs to be collected, crumbs that could very well lead to another great discovery in regards to the Remnant. So they searched and scoured and spelunked, taking weeks away from the Hyperion and their new home to do what they could.

Not wanting to displace any more angara than had already been ejected from Aya, Oberon and the others returned to the Tempest to recuperate rather than languishing on the densely populated sectors of Aya's cities.

Paraan Shie was grateful to them, and that was all the thanks Oberon required. He was more than happy to return to his ship and his familiar bed, to actually sleep rather than tossing and turning all night, to shut his eyes and not feel a rush of anxiety over those angara who would be forced to leave Aya in order to accommodate their lengthy stay.

From what he could tell, his friends appreciated it, too, even though the extra shuttle rides back and forth were a little much.

No one respected his decision more than Jaal.

“Onaon is beautiful, isn't it?” His arms curled tightly around Oberon's waist, hugging him flush against the curve of his body. They sat together on the sofa in the Pathfinder's quarters, staring out at the open system and at the thousands of flickering stars. “Even with the outlying Scourge, or perhaps because of it...”

Oberon rested his head back against the knotted muscle of Jaal's chest.

“What do you think of it?” he asked, his voice softening as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Idly, he touched over Jaal's hands before holding onto the thickest of his fingers, encouraging Jaal to press his broad palms flush against his belly. “How do you feel about the Scourge?”

A thoughtful sound rumbled in Jaal's throat.

“To me, the Scourge represents angaran persistence,” he began slowly. As he spoke, his lips moved against the crown of Oberon's head. “We have each of us traveled through the Scourge in spite of its dangers to protect our planets from the Kett in one way or another. So many of us have died. So many of our ships have been destroyed. But, still, we fly through.”

“Mm... Still, we fly through.” Oberon echoed his words. Each was quieter than the last before his small smile cracked into a yawn. “I like that.”


	5. butterflies

**Prompt:** butterflies.

* * *

“Oberon, there's something I'd like to ask you about.”

Glancing up from the R&D terminal and towards Jaal's voice, Oberon tilted his head. He tapped at the circular station's smooth surface, feeling suddenly curious and concerned all at once. Jaal rarely prefaced a question with something else. He found the most knowledgeable person on the Tempest in the field he was interested in learning about, and he asked. Simple.

Jaal took a lengthy step in his direction, bringing him close enough to speak privately but not close enough to block him in if he needed or wanted to escape.

“I overheard you speaking to your sister just yesterday,” Jaal said. He seemed apologetic, but not ashamed of having heard another person's conversation. Given what followed, Oberon understood as to why completely. “She said that I give you butterflies.”

Heat rushed into Oberon's ears. He reached up to tug at the lobe of one, his other arm curling protectively around his middle. “I, uh...”

The conversation was about him, so Jaal was entitled to understand what was being said.

Right.

“I did some reading. They are insects, are they not?”

Oberon giggled then shook his head. The warmth spread from his ear into his cheeks, leaving splotches of color deep in his skin. “It's another i-idiom. I'm not sure of its origin? Only that it's something we say when someone gets flustered around a person they... care about?”

“Is it a general sort of care?” Jaal asked. His gaze left Oberon's face in favor of watching the projected image of Voeld spin counter-clockwise above them. The pale blue light cast unfamiliar shadows across his face and drained the pinks and purples from his skin, blotting them out into dark and darker shades of blue. “The care you feel for a friend, or for family? Or is this idiom reserved for love?”

Oberon opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and scrubbed a hand over his hot face, hoping to stumble upon an answer that didn't embarrass him any more than he already was.

“The... uh, third one,” was all he managed.

“Could you explain the usage of _butterflies_? Why no other insect?”

Turning his back to the R&D terminal, Oberon tucked his hands into the long sleeves of his hoodie and rubbed his fingertips together before pressing them between his knees. Why _did_ they specify butterflies? He didn't know, so rather than letting Jaal down and saying so, Oberon did his best to come up with a somewhat feasible explanation.

“The feeling...” He looked up at Jaal. The moment their eyes met, some part of him gained a greater understanding of the phrase. Every time, this happened. Every single time, the adoring look in Jaal's eyes left him feeling weak-kneed and light-headed. “It, ah... It's almost a fluttering feeling? Butterflies have really thin wings, so they're soft to the touch. The feeling I get in my stomach when – when you look at me is like butterfly wings flapping all over inside of my stomach.”

Oberon took a deep breath to steady himself.

“As for why we chose butterflies rather than anything else?” He chewed over his bottom lip. “Butterflies are... beautiful. Maybe that's why?”

Jaal stepped closer still, reaching for the soft curve of Oberon's waist. At the contact, Oberon looked to him again. His heart throbbed in his chest, aching in a tender sort of way. That sensation was as familiar as his butterflies.

“Do you... experience the same thing? Or does it manifest differently for angara?”

“I feel it.”

Jaal's words were simple and sat low in his throat, rumbling pleasantly not far from Oberon and his hot, sensitive ear. His thumb stroked over the bunched fabric of Oberon's hoodie, leaving the skin under it a few degrees warmer than before.

“I feel it every time I look at you,” he continued. His proximity pressed Oberon back against the console, his back arching to lean back over the terminal's screen. “And you're right. It is the most beautiful thing I've ever felt.”


	6. laughter

**Prompt:** laughing until they cry.

* * *

Oberon didn't remember how or when he started laughing.  
  
All he remembered was how _they_ started.  
  
Something happened in the film to spur on a hybrid snort-laugh from Cora, who glanced away from the group with an embarrassed smile. That led to Kallo chuckling to himself before breaking off into a laugh of his own, muffled by the slender fingers he curled over his mouth in a vain attempt to keep the sound hidden. Or at least muffled.  
  
Suvi was the next to follow suit, and Liam beat Gil to the punch by milliseconds once the science officer's shoulders started bouncing.  
  
Drack's laugh nearly shook anyone else sitting on the couch onto the floor.  
  
It took a vise grip-esque hold for Oberon to stay put on the cushions, clinging desperately to Jaal whose rich and beautiful laugh had already begun to eclipse all else. His happiness was radiant. It was bright and beautiful, and his eyes glittered in the flickering light of the vidscreen.  
  
Somewhere in there, somewhere in that mish-mash of laughter, Oberon laughed, too.  
  
He laughed _hard_ , until the corners of his eyes were damp and everyone else was gasping for air. Their amusement was broken up to take the necessary breaths, but they all wore the remnants on their faces in the shape of a giddy smile.  
  
Jaal rubbed his thumbs over the wet skin at the corners of Oberon's eyes. The movie was forgotten in favor of something more private. No one looked their way. Drack leaned away, arm on the couch, content to dig out another few handfuls of popcorn despite claiming earlier that he hated when kernels got stuck in his teeth. Suvi rested her chin on her hands and furrowed her brow to make a show of all the attention she was paying to the film.  
  
Even Gil, who sat perched on a chair behind the couch, leaned far to the side to avoid intruding on what was happening.  
  
“You are beautiful beyond anything,” Jaal murmured. He smiled through his words and only smiled wider when Oberon leaned more heavily into his touch. “And your laugh... There aren't words to describe the way it warms me.”  
  
Liam reached over and snatched a few kernels of popcorn, popping three into his mouth and chewing before telling the both of them, “Oi, get a room. Frigging lovebirds.”  
  
Oberon twisted on the couch, a mess of limbs and flushed cheeks, and looked Liam right in his eyes.  
  
“This _**is**_ my room.”  
  
He smiled.  
  
So did Liam. So did everyone else.


	7. when first they met

 They met him with guns raised.

Of course they did.

Oberon had only just outrun the Archon and a veritable cloud of kett ships. The Tempest was no better than a wounded bird, unable to fly far enough to get them anywhere the needed to be. So they landed, breathless, at the demands of the aliens who surrounded them the moment they hit the atmosphere, and everyone knew what this meant. First contact, again. First contact, when the first went so very badly.

After taking a moment to compose himself at the helm, Oberon lifted his head and turned towards the crew. They stood there, staring back at him with differing expressions. Cora looked concerned. Liam, angry and excited for different reasons. Vetra folded her arms, unhappy with his decision to go forward alone. Drack and Peebee were curious to see how all of this was going to pan out; one had a more positive outlook than the other, though not by much. Delight glinted in Suvi’s eyes, but Kallo looked afraid. Worried. About Oberon, or about his ship? It was hard to tell.

“I don’t know how this is going to go,” Oberon admitted, his voice as soft as it was unsure. “I could step off of the ramp and get shot. They could blow up the Tempest.”

Kallo made a quiet, distraught noise in his throat.

“We don’t know what’s going to happen, so that’s why I’m going alone.” Wringing out his hands, Oberon glanced away from the many eyes that were on him, feeling flushed and more than a little anxious. “I want this meeting to go peacefully. I don’t want a repeat of what happened before.”

His stomach twisted at the memory. Fisher, scrambling back against the burning shuttle. Two kett soldiers, approaching him, turning around, shooting.

That feeling of failure would never truly go away.

“All I know is that we need allies in Heleus.” He stared down at the floor, knowing he wasn’t prepared for this, knowing every word of this speech was absolute bullshit. He wasn’t an ambassador, just like he wasn’t a Pathfinder; he was a boy whose color was drowned out in the shadow of his dad. “So I’m going to try and get us some.”

A murmur of approval ran over those gathered. The knowledge that his squad — his _crew_ — believed in him for whatever reason bolstered his confidence.

He walked down the ramp leading out of the Tempest with his hands raised… and they met him with hostility. Or, at least, distrust that would lead to hostility if he made a wrong step or said the wrong thing.

“We’re not here to start anything,” Oberon offered, shakily. He followed a group of what appeared to be guards. They did not speak a word to him, not that he would understand their language. He just hoped they could glean his meaning from the sound of his voice. “We just needed somewhere to land. Our… our ship was damaged while fleeing from the kett.”

One of them snarled from beneath their helmet at the word _kett_.

The name of a familiar enemy, maybe. Oberon tucked that away for later, when they brought him to their leader.

Showing that they stood against the kett could be a much-needed bargaining chip, and he needed one of those more than he realized. Having that in his pocket made breathing easier. Made keeping up with the guards on wobbly, nervous knees easier, too.

Even distracted by the pressure of the moment, Oberon saw that the planet they’d landed on was a paradise. Flowers he didn’t have names for sprouted from every planter, from every inch of rich soil. There were more colors than he ever thought to see again — elegant petals of bright peaches and brilliant blues, stems of emerald green and sunshine and black. Some were taller than him by far. Others were tiny bursts of color and scent. It would take years to learn the names of everything, the smells, and in some cases, the tastes.

The aliens themselves were beautiful, too. Tall and muscular, with jewel-toned skin and the widest, most striking eyes he’d ever seen. One such beauty stepped forward with a surety that came along with leadership, poised on a set of stairs and flanked by others who held themselves in a similar way.

“Why have you come to Aya, human?”

Her voice was deep and resonant, layered like a turian, but the flanging was more subtle.

“My ship was damaged,” Oberon explained, lifting his voice and trying — _trying_ — to sound more sure. He sought to emulate the woman standing in front of him. They were both leaders, reaching out to understand one another. At least, that’s what he hoped this was. “We were trying to outrun the Kett and we… grazed the Scourge.”

“The… Scourge,” the alien echoed. She tasted the word, and a curious expression fell over her face. “That is a good name for it.”

Oberon blinked. “Tha… thank you.”

“But you must understand that we are wary about newcomers, especially given your peoples’ short history with us.” She squared her shoulders, looking down at Oberon with a newfound sense of ease. At least, for the moment. “We will allow you time to repair your ship, but once you are finished—”

Behind the group clustered on the stairs, a new figure approached. He pushed past them all, including the one who Oberon had been speaking to, and headed straight in his direction.

“Jaal, the situation is being handled.”

“Evfra wanted me here,” the newcomer said as he slowed to a stop no more than a foot away. He loomed so much larger than the others. Whether that was due to his personality or the way he presented himself, Oberon wasn’t sure. Still, the difference in their height forced Oberon to tilt his head upwards to look at him. “I am to report back with what I find.”

The alien — _Jaal_ , Oberon mentally corrected himself — pressed a step closer.

“Why have you come to Aya?” he asked, an echo of the female alien’s earlier question. “Truly, as opposed to some fabrication.”

Oberon tore his eyes away from Jaal to look back at his ship. The Tempest stood in the background, smoke curling into the air, having seen much better days.

“I’m not _lying_ about my ship. I hope you realize that.” Rather than wringing out his hands, Oberon tucked them behind his back. Fidgeting would look suspicious. Digging his hands into his pockets, doubly so. He didn’t want to make any of them believe he was reaching for something dangerous. “We were just going to land somewhere in order to make repairs. Then, your people intercepted us, told us to land in the port instead.” A tremor ran through his jaw. Oberon clenched his teeth to calm the tremble. “We didn’t even know you were here.”

Jaal snorted quietly through his flattened nose. “That is impossible.”

“Wh-what? How is it impossible?”

“Your people have had contact with us,” Jaal explained. “I find your ignorance unlikely. Circumstantial, at best.”

Panic rose in Oberon’s chest. No one on the Nexus had mentioned this species to him. They only warned him about the kett presence in Heleus. Had they forgotten to mention this planet entirely? Had they left them out on purpose? Every question that rose had no answer. That was enough to make his breath run thin.

“My people? Where?”

Jaal tilted his head, as if still trying to understand whether or not Oberon was speaking truthfully, if his surprise and his concern was genuine. “On a world settled by the angara — Kadara.”

Kadara. The word was only familiar until the memory hit him.

Director Tann, orating on those who began the rebellion, telling him that he should be glad he missed the violence and the aggression of it all.

“The exiles…” Whatever hope Oberon felt for a simple misunderstanding died right there. His shoulders drooped. “Your people have met with our exiles. They… rebelled before I arrived, and they were removed from the Nexus to avoid further incident.”

“You are new to this cluster, and yet you already have exiles…”

“They were exiled to keep our people safe,” Oberon pleaded, his brows pinched and his eyes burning. “Please. _Please_ understand that we are only trying to survive.”

Jaal made a thoughtful noise in his throat. “That is what we are trying to do, as well.”

“I’m sorry that we made contact like this. I hoped for a… a more peaceful introduction to your people. The… ang… the angara?”

“The angara,” Jaal echoed, unhelpfully.

Oberon nodded, an anxious warmth flooding his cheeks and ears and wrapping around the nape of his neck.

To his surprise, Jaal took another step forward, close enough for the shawl he wore to brush against Oberon’s chest when a wind blew through the crowded square. He leaned down, bright blue eyes focusing on him. “Your face…” There was a curious note to the warm rumble of his voice. “Do all humans change their color when alarmed?”

“Oh God,” Oberon wheezed.

Jaal’s brow ridge furrowed. “I do not understand.”

“Just take a step…” Oberon pressed his hands to the middle of his chest and guided him back a step. “Back. Right, sorry.”

Maybe Jaal realized he was uncomfortable or maybe Jaal knew his time with Oberon was running short, but he took that step back and told him, “Evfra will want to see you. Paaran Shie and her guard will show you to the Resistance Headquarters.” He looked Oberon right in his eyes, and this time, the Pathfinder found that he couldn’t look away. That he didn’t feel the urge to. “There is a very good chance I will see you there.”

Oberon had no idea what this meant for his life in Heleus.

At the time, he barely knew how the day would end.

But watching Jaal turn away and nod to the woman he called Paaran Shie, he felt the first rekindled spark of hope in his heart.


	8. matched

Aya was beautiful, but _so_ humid.

Oberon sat on one of the long, white benches, idly swishing through the applications on his omni-tool and trying not to pay much attention to the sweat clinging to the small of his back or the nape of his neck.

He sighed and chewed on his bottom lip.

With the repairs taking so long, he and the rest of the squad not actively working on the ship were on Aya for the time being. They were stuck. Stranded, even, depending on how much you hated tropical weather. Liam was stuck. Cora was stuck. _He_ was stranded, sweating, and desperately playing every match-three game he could find to keep his mind off of the bubbling anxiety under his skin.

The longer they were here, the risk of a diplomatic incident rose. Doubled. Tripled. Every time one of the passing angara stopped to speak with him or even caught his eye, Oberon froze, unsure of what to say, worried that he might fuck things up for everyone.

In the end, he didn't, but that didn't erase the worries that he might still manage, even after the sun had set.

The marketplace grew quieter with every passing minute as the citizens of Aya returned to their homes or their workplaces. Oberon watched as the crowd thinned, as stall-owners cleaned up their space and packaged up what remained of their goods. One of them even approached him with a handful of blackened shells the size of walnuts, smiled, and told him that they were called _cinder fruit_.

Their real name was _siwotaya_ , but everyone referred to them as their nickname.

' _They were brought from just beyond the treeline, where our forest meets with the wastes._ '

Oberon took the fruit with a polite smile and gave her his thanks. Not that he knew how to open them, or eat them. Or even if he _should_ eat them, given how sick he could get off of eating Heleus flora. Maybe he was allergic.

Huffing quietly, he tucked the gift into the front pocket of his hoodie and turned back to his game of... appropriately, matching asari fruit by color. He slid his forefinger over the screen, connecting five vibrant indigo _iccelan_ together and smiling to himself when it set off a chain of other connecting fruits.

Oberon was so distracted by the game, in fact, that he didn't notice someone sitting down on the bench beside him. At least, not until he heard a deep, familiar voice over the catchy music playing through his earbuds.

“What is that you're playing?”

Oberon nearly jumped right out of his skin. He looked to Jaal with wide eyes, lips opening and closing with each almost-word. “I... ah, it's just – it's a game?”

“Are you sure that it is a game?” Jaal leaned in, looking at the screen with a curious expression stretching from the upturned curve of his lips to his eyes. He chuckled, and Oberon felt a warmth spread down from the sweaty nape of his neck. “Or are you having trouble deciding?”

“I... know it's a game.” Oberon stared at the fruit. Suddenly, he couldn't see any moves. They had to be there. His mind was just playing tricks on him. Or something. “You have to connect at least three of them...”

“By size? Or by color?”

Oberon let go of a slow breath. “By size.”

Jaal nodded, thoughtfully.

“By color!” Oberon corrected himself, fingers of his free hand curling into his sleeve to keep from smacking himself right in the forehead. “I'm sorry. Just... tired. A lot happened today.”

This time, Jaal chuckled. He rested an arm over the back of the bench, drawing his body closer to Oberon's in order to get a better look at the screen of his omni-tool. Their newfound proximity left Oberon breathless. His throat, dry.

“This technology.” Jaal gestured towards the screen. “The omni... tool? We have nothing like this, which explains my interest, I hope.”

Oberon nodded.

Their surroundings were almost silent now save for the sounds of nature. Aside from the distant roll of thunder and the cries of a flock of birds, there was nothing to be heard beyond the murmur of their discussion.

They were alone. Rather than making him even more anxious, Oberon felt himself relax with only one pair of eyes on him.

“Do you know how to open cinder fruit?” Oberon asked, suddenly, just after he found a string of four _prulerra_ clusters. Bright orange. Not unlike grapes, but more cylindrical in shape. He was mildly allergic to them, which was why this situation worried him. “One of the vendors gave me a handful, but I don't know how to open them.”

Digging into his pockets, he placed the shelled fruit into Jaal's palm. They rolled around for a moment before gathering in the center, ashen gray against his beautiful purple skin.

Jaal curled his hand around the fruit and curled his fingers inward just hard enough for Oberon to hear a quiet crunch, the whisper of a crumble, and when he opened his hand again, the shells were all but dust gathered on his palm.  
  
“Once the shell is punctured, it falls away like ash,” Jaal explained. “They are difficult to harvest, as a careful hand is necessary when plucking them from their trees. Most cinder fruit ends up rotting on the ground after a fall. But when you are lucky enough to find a tree laden with them...”  
  
Oberon leaned over and brushed the tip of his index finger over the fruit. Its flesh was a diluted shade of green. The texture was smooth and damp, but not sticky.

A rare breeze pushed through the commons, sending the shell's dust to the ground.

“You ought to have one,” Jaal offered. “Then, you must teach me how to play. Properly.”

Oberon took the deal. He reached out, picked up one of the spherical fruits, and sank his teeth down into the flesh. It split into two easily, like biting through jello, and filled his mouth with a bright, boozy flavor stronger than anything he'd ever tasted. There was fermentation at play with the cinder fruit, though he wasn't sure whether or not he could actually become intoxicated from popping a few of them into his mouth.

He chewed, making a quiet pleased sound in his throat, eyes sparkling with the light from the still-active notice board not a few feet away.

“Delicious, no?”

Oberon nodded before pressing the rest of the fruit into his mouth.

Once he was finished chewing, Oberon wiped at his lips with his hoodie's sleeve and smiled against the fabric. “That was incredible...!”

“These are not my favorite, but my mother is fond of them.” Jaal chuckled before rolling an entire cinder fruit into his mouth. “' _Nothing good comes from Aya. Nothing but_ siwotaya,'” she says.”

Oberon smiled to himself. He hesitated only briefly before turning towards Jaal, body tilted so much closer to him than before as he lifted the screen of his omni-tool for him to see. Jaal's attention turned towards the game; Oberon's turned towards Jaal.

“Here, I'll show you how string multiple fruits together for a higher score...”


End file.
